


Shared Arrested Development

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [51]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Child Neglect, Friendship, Gen, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Webber was friends with every survivor in the Constant.Even with the one who had brought them here to begin with.
Series: DS Extras [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	Shared Arrested Development

The sun had just come up, the redbirds were chirping and singing brightly, and Webber skipped along the cobbled path to the forests.

They had visited Mx. Wx78 yesterday, waving to them as the sun dipped into noon, and had helped all day with the bees. All of their robot friends bee boxes had been super full, and so Mx. Wx78 had asked them to help harvest the honey.

Well, not really _asked_ them, but Webber had been just fine with helping their friend out. Even if they had been sort of commanded in a loud, mean voice.

And also even when Mx. Wx78 had put on a beekeeper hat and hadn't given one to Webber. They had a net, after all, so when all those angry bees burst out from their nest and buzzed and swarmed all about Webber just swung around their net and tried to catch all of them as Mx. Wx78 went about gathering the honey.

Mx. Wx78 had told Webber that they had been a good enough distraction afterwards, as Webber itched at a few of the stings on their arms and their robot friend went about storing the honey away. They had a lot more jars now, Webber had noticed, and when they had asked Mx. Wx78 told them that they had traded a few old batches of honey at camp for them. Webber had twittered and chirped as they examined the warped glass, some more fragile than others, and even a few having those swirly colors like the melty marbles they'd sometimes find out and about. 

Mx. Wx78 told them that Miss Willow and Mister Wilson had been the ones to make them, with a little help from Miss Wickerbottom. Maybe not with all their names being said, but Webber was getting pretty good at guessing who Mx. Wx78 was talking about.

It wasn't nice of Mx. Wx78 to call Mister Wilson short, or Miss Willow a 'lit fuse', but they sort of had weird names for everyone, and spoke in that weird deep way that their voice sounds like sometimes, all...roboty, Webber thought. Their robot friend had at least called Miss Wickerbottom a librarian though, and even Webber by their own name, which was very nice of them!

It had been full moon last night too, so they had then helped Mx. Wx78 catch a bunch of dark butterflies and fireflies out in the birchnut forest, hauling everything back for them as Webber told them all about their spider friends and nestmates. 

Mommy Long Legs had risen up and had made a princess Queen a few days ago, and Webber had waved and twittered and played with her a bit before they had to leave. Mommy Long Legs liked to move places, and Webber had followed with her to a new space of forest, spending many days helping with sticking webbing everywhere, settling the Queen down and making their new home comfy. All their stuff they had unpacked from their little backpack, putting away the little rocket ship that Mister Wilson had given them and the big ball of yarn Mister Maxwell had handed to them once and didn't want back afterwards. They had a few toys from their friends that they kept in their nests, as best as they could. Their spider friends didn't touch them, cause their toys were sticks and flowers and butterflies, so Webber was okay with just wrapping up stuff in webbing and sticking them to into their own comfy little den.

For all the help they had given Mx. Wx78 yesterday, now their backpack was filled with a few jars of honey! Packed in with grass and soft fabrics to stop them from clinking together too loudly, and Webber was excited for when they got back to their nest home. They liked sharing honey with their spider friends, and even Mommy Long Legs liked eating it with them.

As they skipped along Webber whistled a little spider tune, holding the bands of their backpack and waving all their limbs. They had a nice day yesterday, and when they got back they'll share the honey and take a nice nap with all their spider friends and Mommy Long Legs! 

They followed the cobble path as it turned a bend, passing mixed pine and birch trees, grasses and bushes and a few berry plants even, before something else caught their eye.

They slowed their step, quieting their trilling, and realized it was Mister Maxwell.

Over by one of the birch trees, holding to it and not looking in their direction, distracted.

Before Webber could whistle out a greeting the man suddenly seemed to wobble and then collapsed!

With a squeak of spider sound, surprise and shock, Webber darted over, hopping over a few bunny holes as they went. 

"Mister Maxwell, are you alright!?" 

They skidded to a stop next to him, their friend on his knees with one hand on the tree, and suddenly realized that Mister Maxwell might be a little, uh, sick.

Their limbs drew in close, and he hadn't answered them yet but that was okay, Webber could see why now, and instead they went to his side.

Cause Mister Maxwell was throwing up and coughing, and it wasn't fun being all alone when one was sick and all.

It didn't even enter their mind to think about it, no hesitance as they raised a clawed hand and patted him on the back, quietly clicking in their throat.

"What are you doing so far from camp when you're sick, Mister Maxwell?" Their face turned into one of spidery confusion, limbs twitching and fur all bristles up, and they waited patiently as their friend coughed into the grass, patting his back comfortingly. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed if you're sick?"

They already knew the answer to that, cause they've been sick lots and Miss Wickerbottom always took care of them when that happened, with thermal stones and mandrake soup and spider glands. Sometimes honey too, and the weight of the jars on their back made them adjust their shoulders for a moment, reminding them.

Mister Maxwell didn't answer for a few minutes, wheezing, and Webber curled their mandibles close in their mouth, many eyes darting away for a minute to give him a bit of privacy, as Miss Wickerbottom says sometimes. Throwing up was never fun, and it was especially hard for them cause spiders don't have a 'gag reflex'. Miss Wickerbottom had told them about that, and also told them she worried sometimes when they got sick because she doesn't want them to choke on anything, but so far Webber didn't have it too bad.

All they had to do when their tummy got sick and nauseous was to tilt their head down and open their mouth wide, mandibles held out of the way, and then anything that was in them that wasn't supposed to be just sort of gushed out if they heaved hard enough.

But for their human friends it must be worse, cause they do have that reflex thing! Webber chittered, limbs twitching, and waited for their friend as Mister Maxwell finally seemed to pause, breathing in deep and raggedly.

A part of them wondered if they should ask him if they should go get some help, but then their friend straightened up, making them pull their arm back and finally get a good look at his face.

Webbers mandibles pulled tight, and their limbs wavered, and they felt a bit worried now. Mister Maxwell looked really, really sad, and really, really ill, all pale and thin.

"Are you alright, Mister Maxwell?" They asked, watching him worriedly, fiddling their claws together as they watched their friend take great big gulps of wheezy air.

"Never...never been better, pal." Mister Maxwell opened his eyes now, and Webber watched as he got a disgusted look on his face, one hand going to his stomach a moment as he looked down, still panting. "Shouldn't you be...somewhere else?"

"No, we don't think so." Webber shook their head, limbs waving about as they blinked their eyes in pairs. Mister Maxwell really didn't look 'better', no matter what he said. "Are you sure everything is okay? If you're sick, you should be resting at camp!"

Their words might have pitched up a moment and their limbs curled close when he flinched, still looking really ill, but before Mister Maxwell could speak his face got a bit queasy and he suddenly leaned over to heave some more.

Webber clicked, twittered, and felt bad for asking. Again they started to rub his back, something Miss Wickerbottom did when they got sick, though they had their bristly spiny fur and Mister Maxwell had his fancy suit jacket on, and they blinked all their eyes as their face made a tiny spider frown. 

They didn't like it when their friends got sick, cause getting sick hurts, and they also didn't like it when their friends got hurt. But they couldn't really do anything right now, cause throwing up meant Mister Maxwell had to get the bad stuff inside of him out, and not even mandrake soup could help with that. 

They also didn't have any mandrakes, which made Webber twitter in faint unhappiness. All their backpack had were jars of honey.

Again Mister Maxwell seemed to finally calm, heaving for breath a little harsher, and they didn't say anything besides quiet clicking in the back of their throat but their friend was trembling a bit now. It made them even more worried, but this time Mister Maxwell was the one to gently brush their clawed hand away. He gave them an idle glance, still sad looking, still distracted, but Webber whistled a low, quiet sound and he didn't look as in pain anymore now.

Maybe them being here helped!

When Mister Maxwell started to try and stand up, his legs shaking underneath him, Webber assisted as best as they could, holding his arm and giving him another way to get balance besides the birch tree. They didn't want him to accidentally fall now, and helped their friend take a few wobbly steps away from the mess in the grass.

"Are you going to go back to camp, Mister Maxwell?" He gave them a blank look, still looking withdrawn, and Webber chirped, still holding his arm as their limbs all waved about. "You should go rest, so you won't be sick anymore! That's what Miss Wickerbottom always tells us."

For a moment they didn't get an answer, mandibles and limbs wavering, but then Mister Maxwell blinked and seemed to come back, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand to his eyes. He looked really pale in the morning light, and Webber clicked worriedly to themself, thinking quickly.

A thought came to mind and they hurriedly swung their backpack around, digging their claws in before pulling out one of the cloth fabrics that helped cushion all the glass jars. This they held up, offering it to their friend, and after a moment of his eyes slowly falling to it Mister Maxwell gently took the cloth from their hands.

They blinked, all in pairs, twittering idly as he wiped his eyes and then his mouth, grimacing again as he folded it up, keeping it held in his hands and not really looking at them.

"...Thank you, Webber." His voice had gotten a bit soft, and he still looked sad but not so much anymore; only very, very tired.

"You should go back to camp, Mister Maxwell." Webber clicked, mandibles churning as their limbs waved. "Do you want us to walk with you back?"

"No, no." Their friends voice lost the softness just as quickly as it had arrived, sudden and sharp, but just as exhausted as the rest of him and Mister Maxwell waved his hand, sighing heavily. "Go do what you were doing earlier, I know the way just fine."

Webber twittered as their friend pulled away, still a bit wobbly but getting his balance before they could offer him help. They didn't like the thought of leaving him to go back to camp alone, but he had told them that he didn't need their help!

As they internally tried to reason it out, Mister Maxwell started coughing again, this time using the cloth fabric like a handkerchief. 

This gave Webber an idea, one where they wouldn't be doing something someone didn't want them to do but where they still helped!

"Mister Maxwell, wait a minute!" 

They swung their backpack around, this time to the ground as they crouched over it, digging inside a moment before wrapping their claws about what they were searching for. Standing up, carefully holding it in both their hands, Webber walked over those few steps away their friend had taken and held out a jar of honey to him.

This one was one of the decorated ones, the ones that Mx. Wx78 would put a little cloth pattern over the lid, tie with a bit of frayed sting and have a few pretty designs sewn in. It had a few bees, dancing yellow and red, and Webber held it out to Mister Maxwell, a small, worried spider smile pulling at their limbs and mandibles.

"Here, we have lots of these now!" They clicked, churred as he gave them a tired, exasperated look, but they continued. "Honey helps when you are sick, Mister Maxwell! This'll make you feel better, we promise!"

He didn't look fully convinced, but they wiggled their outstretched hands, spider limbs wiggling with them, and after a moment Mister Maxwell accepted their gift, stuffing away the dirtied fabric into one of his suit pockets.

Their spider smile became more genuine, and their words rasped in their throat with many clicking clacking noises but they clasped their clawed hands and blinked all their eyes, one by one.

"We hope you get better soon, Mister Maxwell." 

He turned the jar about in his hands, careful as the honey shined in the morning light, and even eyed the bees stitched on, before Webber was finally given an almost smile from their friend.

"I, ah, thank you again, Webber. You didn't need to give this to me."

"We wanted to, cause it'll help you get better! And honeys yummy, so maybe you'll feel better too?"

Webber twittered a spidery tune, in thought now, but they were distracted when a hand patted them on the head.

Mister Maxwell looked tired out, and still sad, but at least he was giving them an almost smile now. They chirped out a sound before stepping forward and wrapping him in a careful hug, doing their best to not squeeze him too hard. 

Even when Mister Maxwell wasn't sick they always had to be careful hugging him, cause he got hurt real easy. They remember feeling terrible about how sometimes their too tight hugs would give him bruises even! 

For now they were careful, and he was still breathing a bit shakily and still sort of trembly but after a tense moment of silence Webber felt his arms drop down to give them a half hearted almost hug, still holding the jar of honey.

It probably wasn't good for them to hug him since he was sick and all, but Maxwell had looked so sad and if their friends were sad then Webber had to make sure to hug them. They couldn't make their friends _not_ sad sometimes, but they'll always do their best to help.

Mister Maxwell was always so thin too! Maybe he was sick cause he didn't weigh all that much, like how sometimes Mister Wolfgang would get all ill and thin if he didn't eat enough. 

Webber wondered if they could think of a way to help their friend with that next, after he stopped being sick.

The hug didn't last long, with Mister Maxwell a little suddenly, gently pulling away and brushing their clawed hands away from him, and he still looked sad but at least now Webber had done their best to help. Maybe he'll feel better tomorrow.

Webber decided that they'd visit Mister Maxwell more often, maybe even in a few days, to make sure he was getting better. They should get some mandrakes too, just incase.

He gave them a more genuine smile, small and not really reaching his dark eyes, and Webber blinked all of theirs in pairs and smiled up at him.

"...I need to get going, kid."

Webber nodded their head, turning around and scooping up their backpack, now a little lighter and more clinking together. They'll need to not skip now, since there was more room and all the glass would bump into each other.

"We'll see you later, Mister Maxwell. Hope you get better!"

He gave them a little wave at that, the exhaustion overtaking any of the previous smile, but Webber has done their best and now they had to take care of their own business. Mommy Long Legs was waiting for them, after all, and there was still lots of webbing to take care of!

Webber waved back, limbs rising to wave as well, and then Mister Maxwell turned, holding the honey jar close, and walked away. Webber watched for a moment, but their friend wasn't stumbling or looking wobbly anymore, and they were glad of that.

They turned away too, in the opposite direction, to the cobble path, and started off, careful with their backpack.

They twittered quietly, limbs waving in thought, but they ducked their head and avoided the tree where they had first found Mister Maxwell, quiet until they passed it by.

Whatever Mister Maxwell was sick with, it probably wasn't anything they'd ever catch. Webber was pretty sure of that.

The smell of oily shadow spice and the faintest of curdled sickness followed them for awhile as they walked, but soon the autumn breeze blew by and it went away from them.

Webber didn't let themself think about it too much, cause then they'd get real sad; Mister Maxwell always smelled of nightmare fuel, and the faintest tinge of rotting blood.

***

Webber churred, all their limbs twitching and itching through their fur, trying to clean up the doggy blood that had spilled on them earlier.

The stuff always got gunked up in their bristles, and it was always so hard to clean up and sort of icky tasting, but they were making their way back to camp to check up on everyone, so they already knew someone was going to make them take a bath.

Webber didn't really _want_ to take a bath, but they did want to make sure everyone was okay! All their spider friends had helped protect them from the doggies, waiting for those big scary paws to trip up on their nest webbing before swarming out at Webbers screechy calls. 

Once they were all tangled up all that needed to be done was for some of the warriors to bite them a few times, and then the doggies went to sleep. Webber had patted them on their big old noses, all tangled in silk and webbing, and knew they wouldn't even feel a thing when Mommy Long Legs got hungry enough.

Walking along, still trying to untangle the drying blood clumps in their mane of bristles, Webber whistled a quiet spider tune, distracting themself as they skipped along. There weren't many doggies this time around, so they didn't feel too worried about anything real bad happening, but visiting their human friends was always fun! 

And then Webber had to slow their steps, tilting their head, as they heard...something.

The sensitive furs and bristles of their face and neck rose up, and their limbs drew in close as they looked about, alert now, cause they could hear-

Whimpering doggy sounds.

They had been nearing the edge of the forest, out to the plains now, and all about them the great pine trees were silent, only those other noises reaching their internal ears. Raising up their limbs, going on tip toe for a moment, Webber turned this way and that to try and pinpoint the noise.

It wasn't heading towards them, but wasn't moving either, so it wasn't a hungry, angry doggy. And, even though Webber knew spiders better than hounds, the pitched whimpers made them curl their limbs back close, eyes wide and mandibles twitching, fur bristling up.

Those noises didn't sound...good, at all.

Carefully edging their way to where the forest ended, great plumes of yellowed grasses and flattened grassy fields that stretched out ahead of them, Webber peeked their head out from under a pine trees thick needles, blinking all their eyes in pairs as they tried to see what was going on.

It was dipping into evening now, always so bright on the plains, but they could see a figure moving. After a moment of watching, Webber wandered out from under the tree, ducking around the tall grasses to get a bit closer.

The moment the figure got more visible they straightened up, twittering deep in their throat as they hopped out, a greeting right out of their mandible and fanged mouth.

"Hello, Mister Maxwell!"

They bounded over, smiling a spider smile, and could now see it was just the tall man out here, nobody else.

They slowed when they realized there was also the doggy.

Mister Maxwell had turned his head to look at them, but all of Webbers eyes went wide as they looked at the collapsed hound, its great barrel chest heaving for breath and big giant paws scraping loosely into the dusty dirt and fraying grass. Its big eyes rolled to look at them, the whites big and bulging, and it panted heavily, still trying to wiggle around and not accomplishing a thing.

"...Did the doggies attack you too, Mister Maxwell?" Webber turned to look at their tall friend, not seeing any other dead hound in the area, only this big one and all its blood sort of spilling out in big splattered purple pools.

But now that they looked up at him, Mister Maxwell didn't look all that happy. They knew he was grumpy a lot of the time, but Webber curled their limbs close, blinking all their eyes up at the man.

He was frowning, but he didn't seem to really be...looking at them.

"Just one of them, unfortunately." His voice was flat too, distracted as his dark eyes went back to staring at the wheezing hound. "Must have wandered off from the rest of the pack."

"Oh…" Webber glanced back too, and they could see all the slashy wounds on it, bright purple lines that glistened, greasy fur slicking down and flies already buzzing around. Most of them were too sharp, smooth and clean to be made by a spear.

Something about Mister Maxwell's voice was making their fur stand on end, and they shivered a bit. In the back of their mind, hiding away usually but now sort of poking at them, they remembered shadows and darkness and figures towering over them.

And being all alone, their voice echoing through forests and no one to answer them back.

The doggy whimpered, kicking its legs a moment and shifting in the dirt and grass, and now the buzzing of flies was very loud to Webber, their own limbs rising to try and wave any away. The bugs were attracted to all that blood, and it wasn't smelling all that good anymore as it dyed the grass gooey purple.

Their own blood wasn't that much different, Webber knew, but spider blood wasn't as goopy thick as doggy. 

The hound whined, a wheezy exhale as it dropped its head to the grass, long tongue flopping out and letting the flies land upon it in buzzing masses.

Webber realized, after a moment of standing in silence, that they didn't feel all that good with just standing here.

Glancing only briefly at Mister Maxwell, who seemed sort of out of it, not even looking at them, Webber inched their way over to the injured doggy, claws held to their chest and limbs drawn close as they blinked their many eyes down upon it.

Its eyes bulged when it saw them, and it twitched, great jaws snapping in the air weakly as it wiggled its paws, dragging furrows in the dirt. The flies rose up at the movement, darting about as Webber drew in a bit closer, and they looked down upon the hurt doggy.

Dying doggy, they realized, and with that their face screwed up in a spidery expression, mandibles adjusting in their mouth and limbs all twitching, a gross, sad feeling rising in their chest.

A look around showed that Mister Maxwell did have a spear nearby, flung away in the grass with purple blood splattered and bent plants all about, and now they realized that even one hound must have been a bit of a surprise for their friend to be attacked by, but they hurriedly scurried over. There was doggy blood on it still, drying on the pointy end, and they scooped it up, holding it close as they walked back.

The doggys eyes rolled all about, watching them as it struggled for a moment, and it looked weaker now, heaving for breath. All their eyes blinked, looking at the glassy black orbs it had, and then they carefully raised the spear up.

"And what do you think you are doing?"

Webber flinched, stumbled a step back as they held the spear handle to their chest, limbs drawing in close now.

Mister Maxwell had snuck up behind them! 

And now, as they twittered deep in their chest, was glaring at them. And not like his usual glares, the irritated ones that weren't all that serious, the grumpy ones they were more used to back at camp, surrounded by all their friends.

A shiver went up their spine, made their fur bristle out, because that glare made them think of Before, of when they had been truly alone, still not understanding the words of the spiders, still trying to remember how to walk, back before they had ever clawed their way out of a choking death smelling grave. Back when there had been smoke blown into their face and too many teeth grinned down at them, and scary shadow hands that crawled over to their fire just to squeeze it out in one hissing, snarling move.

Back when the eyes in the dark watched them, when they had been still so afraid of the dark, not understanding the thing in the night that would toy with them, shove them around and around until dizzy morning. 

Back when they had no friends.

Mister Maxwells eyes glittered dangerously, shiny and dark and making them swallow thickly, edging another step back, and his hands were clawed at his sides, a shivery feeling of almost solidifying smoke, shaping a sharp, twirly shape in the air in flickering flashes that made their eyes go wide, and he was holding himself real stiffly, staring down at them, and Webber hiccuped a sound and realized that maybe they should leave him alone for a bit.

Sometimes their friends weren't themselves, so sometimes Webber had to help wake them back up.

But, sometimes, their friends were sort of _too much_ themselves, and they couldn't do anything to fix that.

"We were, um, we were going to…" Webber stuttered out a few gurgling hisses, limbs twitching and mandibles wiggling around, shaking a tiny bit, cause they knew what a shadowy sword looked like and they could almost taste that weird spicy smell that came around whenever it was summoned, but their voice trailed off as Mister Maxwell suddenly waved his hand, a short, dismissive gesture that made them stumble back a bit more.

They held the spear close, limbs twitching as they watched him, but Mister Maxwell only stared down at the hound. It panted heavily, great gasps as its eyes rolled, staring up at them, and Webber flinched as it whimpered again, a low, quiet canine sound.

It...it sounded like it was really, really hurting.

They watched as suddenly Mister Maxwell dropped down, balancing in a crouch as he looked over the doggy, dark eyes unblinking and shiny, the frown on his face not as harsh anymore, just sort of...neutral.

Webber clicked, deep in the back of their throat, and wondered what they should do.

Cause their friend was acting sort of odd, sort of almost scary even, and there was no one else around besides them and they were starting to feel kind of ill now. The hounds blood was thick in the air, smelly and clogging, and it's wheezes were constant and dragging and making them feel really, really uncomfortable.

Webbers spider friends didn't kill things slowly; they either ripped bad things apart or sent them to sleep, to eat later. Their human friends were sort of messier sometimes, but even Miss Wigfrid killed big old Koalaphants as quickly as she could! 

So they didn't know what to do, cause Mister Maxwell wasn't killing the hound.

After a moment, as the doggy wheezed and whimpered, Webber blinked as the man reached out an arm and gently laid his hand upon the hounds snout.

It twitched its jaws, heaving for breath, its long floppy tongue coated in dirt and grass and the trailing blood oozing from its mouth, giant teeth and tusks stained with purple ichor, and Webber blinked all their eyes one at a time, watching as Mister Maxwell just started to…

Pet it. Slowly he dragged his gloved hands through its greasy fur, watching it unblinkingly like a hawk, but all the hound could do was twitch a bit, great chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, and it whimpered again, this time quieter. He didn't even seem concerned that is blood was going to stain his shoes, and Webber curled all their mandibles and limbs close, feeling off and sort of weird.

They didn't really know what was going on, and it was making them worried, and maybe feel a bit more than a little ill. Maybe...maybe they should…

The thought caught in their mind, and their fur bristled up, taking a deep breath of air as they realized what they could do. They almost considered speaking, but Mister Maxwell was entirely focused on petting the doggy.

The dying doggy, they thought, and with that Webber backed away a few more steps before swinging around and sprinting away, to camp.

They had to go find someone who could better talk to Mister Maxwell! They couldn't do it, cause they didn't know what was going on, and they also had the bad feeling that maybe Mister Maxwell might hurt them if they tried to, so now they'll go find help! 

Out of everyone at camp, Webber hoped they'd find one of their friends who were also friends with Mister Maxwell. They couldn't ask Miss Wigfrid or Miss Willow, cause they already knew those two didn't like him, but maybe Miss Wickerbottom or Mister Woodie.

If they were real lucky though, finding Mister Wes or Mister Wilson would be best, cause those two talked to Mister Maxwell the most, and as Webber knew very well that meant they _had_ to be good friends. 

They hurried on, holding the spear close, and now that they were away from hearing the sad doggy their chest was feeling kind of funny and tight, heart thumping loud in their head. 

The thoughts in the back of their mind were still trying to bite at them, trying to trip them up, but they squeezed shut a few eyes and ran on.

They didn't like to remember, the time of Before. In the Before, their friends had not been their friends. In the Before, they had been alone.

In the Before, Webber distinctly remembered the faces of those that hurt them, and it made their chest choke up and a dark shadowy fog cover their vision whenever they were reminded of it, especially when they were at camp.

Because then they'd poke their head out of their tent and they'd see all their friends who've hurt them, a long time ago.

And that was why they shoved all that away, cause it was long ago and they were friends, family now, and no one would ever hurt Webber like that again.

Webber ran as fast as they could, right to camp, and made themself think of helping Mister Maxwell, even though their mind was still sort of nervous, scared even.

Cause, back near the dying doggy, when their friend had glared down at them, all dark and unblinking like the shadow monsters at night, Webber had almost felt as if Mister Maxwell had wanted to hurt _them_.

They shook their head, limbs all waving about as their mandibles twitched and their eyes squinted, pushing the mean, bad thoughts away, and ran on.

***

The sun was setting, a long dusk that brought in a bit of cold now, and Webber trudged on, kicking up a bit of dirt as their face made an expression sort of like a spider pout.

They still couldn't believe Wendy didn't want to come with them! They just wanted a bit of company while they went searching for cool rocks and gold bits out near the meteor fields, that was all, and their bestest friend in the whole wide world had told them that she didn't want to come. 

Even though they felt a bit irritated, maybe more than irritated that they were walking all alone, Webber knew why she had said no. The doggies had gotten into the gardens a little while ago, so everyone was still working on fixing up the broken fences and tending to the bent plants, and they knew Wendy did like the gardens. They also knew she's been working on them ever since they got broken into, and Webber huffed, kicking up a cloud of dust as they walked the dirt road, passing birch trees and berry bushes, flowers and weeds. 

They wanted to help too, but Miss Wickerbottom didn't want them to right now. Maybe it was their fault that the doggies had gotten in, cause Webber had been leaving the gates open and climbing on the fences, making them wobbly, but they still wanted to help!

But instead Wendy told them she couldn't come with them to find rocks and gold, so now they were out here all alone without their friends.

Webber huffed a spidery clicking sound, shifting their empty backpack on their back a bit, and screwed up their eyes, mandibles drawn in close as they walked on with new determination.

Maybe Mister Wilson hadn't been talking to them, only commenting that the chests seemed low in gold, but because Wendy was helping in the gardens Webber was now going to help in other ways! 

Like gather up a bunch of rocks and nitre and gold! Maybe when they got back and showed everyone all the helping they had done, maybe Miss Wickerbottom will let them help fix up the gardens. 

And then they'll be able to work with Wendy, who even if she had told them no was still their bestest friend. 

The trees started to fall away as they walked, Webber stubbornly ignoring everything but the path ahead, but even as they walked their cloudy unhappy feelings were starting to fade a bit. They might still be a bit mad at Miss Wickerbottom, but she was right.

They had let the doggies get in, so now they were grounded from the garden. Webber wiggled their limbs and mandibles, drew in a big breath of air, and continued on with more than enough determination.

They wanted to help, so help they would!

Now the path was more gravel, sometimes soft under their feet and then packed earth, and as they passed a last twiggy and a little bent tree Webber could see all the holes and dips from the past meteor shower. Some of them were still charred, blackened wisps of smoke rising and making their mandibles curl with the burned smell, but they continued on.

The path took them through the field, big round boulders and crashed moon meteors scattered all about, and Webber took a moment to scoop up a few moonstone pieces as they walked by, putting it all into their pack. 

Those were always shiny and cool looking, and maybe someone back at camp would want them.

Past the field the rocks and boulders got more numerous, rising up sort of like a canyon maze, all sorts of ways about, left and right and even climbing up was an option, though the rock sometimes got crumbly and Webber knew their human friends didn't like it when they climbed up stuff.

Their spider friends didn't care, cause they'd just climb right up after Webber anyway.

Webber spent their time wandering around, scooping up fallen rocks and crumbly pieces of nitre, sometimes a nugget of gold that got loose as they scraped at it from being so inset in the walls. No moonstones here, only rocks, but it wasn't a super boring chore. 

Webber turned about one of the rocks they had found, sort of red on one side, lines like it had been painted even, and another rock they found was so dusty, their claws leaving little furrows on its surface. Some were just pebbles, round and dark, sometimes almost blue even and so smooth in their claws, sometimes almost all the way round like a marble, and Webber spent quite a few minutes playing with those, flicking them all about and giggling spider laughter at the sharp bonks of noise they made against each other.

Sometimes slides of almost crystal caught their eye, easily shattering under their claws, and they spider smiled and cooed as they looked at the thin remains they wanted to keep. Miss Wickerbottom had told them that this was quartz, and it was very common.

Mister Wilson had told them that it was rock, just all rock, and to not ask him questions about dumpy old rocks. Webber was pretty sure that Mister Wilson didn't really like rocks, not at all.

Some of the rocks were bigger, heavier, making them try to haul a big yellow slab about a few feet before letting it drop with a huff, and they didn't think that one would fit into their backpack. Their limbs scratched idly through their fur, looking down at it before with a shake off they went once more.

They needed rocks and gold and nitre, and they didn't think they'll be able to haul the big rocks back to camp anytime soon.

Turning a corner, all their eyes looking around the barren rock formations, risen at their sides and then dipping, then rising again, a small mini gully, Webber spotted something out of the corner of their eye.

A crack, not a small one, and it wasn't part of the path they were taking. They twittered as they approached it, looked up and down at the pebbles and crumbled rocks all about them, and maybe they'll find cooler rocks if they didn't just follow the path like they were supposed to.

It wasn't really a rule, they remember Wendy telling them that, but Webber was still a bit hurt that they had been told no when they wanted to help.

So, they decided that maybe this way would get them super special rocks, and then everything would be forgiven and all alright. They had to find _good_ rocks, and not ones on the trail.

With that decided, feeling bold, Webber adjusted their grip on their now heavy bag and started to scramble up the rocky chasm.

It wasn't too big, not too small, and wasn't much of a hole either; just as they squirmed up and through they were right back under the dusky sun, opening up as they wiggled their limbs and clawed up the rock in their haste.

So that was why they didn't realize that there was a drop right after the climb.

Their claws skidded in pebbles, dark and red and yellow rocks that fell with them, and Webber squeaked out a spidery screech as they tumbled right down the slope.

They landed on their belly, their rock heavy backpack knocking the air from them for a moment as rocks and dust settled all about them. All their eyes were screwed up tight, limbs drawn close to their head as they tried to breath and had to cough at all the settling dust, and now their whole body felt all sore and grimy. Swiping a clawed hand over their face, brushing their mandibles and limbs as they pushed themself up, Webber blinked open their eyes and tried to get their bearings.

Right before them, now coated in yellowed dust, was a scrappy twiggy nest and its bright blue egg.

Webber stared at it a moment, and it dawned on them that maybe they should have remembered that there was a reason why you didn't just go alone into the rocky gullies of the meteor fields.

Blinking all their eyes, wide and now alert even as more coughs tried to scratch at their throat, Webber carefully, slowly stood up. There was no big mommy bird in sight, only the nest and more rock walls, and behind them they could see the slope they had fallen down. 

Webber looked up at the setting sun, and decided real quick that they should go back to camp.

Quietly they sneaked around the nest, not even daring to touch the big egg, all nice blues and swirly white spots, the smell of feather dust and birdly scents rising up from the nest, and now they could see the nest wasn't just a bunch of twigs stacked together. A bunch of dark feathers adorned it haphazardly, shiny oily looking, almost purple, and Webber swallowed thickly as they backed away to where the exit looked to be, finally turning about to make their get away.

And instead came face to face with a giant, bloodshot eyeball.

They hissed in surprise, waved their arms as they tripped backwards, stumbling on fallen rock and pinwheeling before Webbers balance left them and down they went.

A horridly squishy, crackly noise went up as they hit, and suddenly Webbers back was feeling a bit gooey and gross, fur bristling up in discomfort.

Webber stared up at the big mommy bird, both frozen in shock, and then glanced down to where they now sat. The nest was uncomfy, even more so now that they felt a bit soggy, and bits of pretty blue eggshell was stuck up in their fur.

There was a deep inhale in front of them, and that big eye was bulged up, feathers poofed out and little wings extended, and Webber flinched back at the screeching bellow that resounded right into their ears.

While Webber has never really been in this sort of situation before, they've been in lots of others like it and knew exactly what to do - Webber scrambled out of the nest and started to run.

Right in between the mommy birds legs, her shriek piercing and offended and full of rage, and they heard the swish of air and the big sudden thump right behind them as they sprinted away.

If they had been in an open field they'd be able to lose her quickly, darting away from her long reach and tiring her out before she'd give up. But, as Webber realized, they were in the worst place they could have ended up.

It was a _tallbird fortress_, and the cry started up all about them, giant eyes rolling and long striding legs walking about, the birds starting to holler even louder as they were caught sight of.

Webber jumped away as one giant beak rushed at them, narrowly missing as they scurried below the birds great legs, and it shrieked even louder at them. They had to be careful with avoiding any spurs and all the talons, and the maze of rock made them frantic, only thinking of escape, nothing else. Scrambling up one rock, leaping as a beak crackled over where they had just been, their spidery brain made them hiss and snarl and struggle to not get hit, climbing the walls as they started to pant and gasp as more of those big eyes rolled around just to stop upon seeing them. 

A well timed leap had them darting between two birds, the clattering squawks as they ran into each other, but Webber didn't stick around as more of them started to trip over themselves to get at them.

Finally cutting through the chaos Webber spotted a breach in the stone walls and without hesitation ran for it. Darting between feet, dodging beaks and kicking spurs, and then Webber was out, rolling for a second through the dust and gravel.

Just as they got their feet back under them, dizzy and more than panicked, a horrible screech rose up above them, their only warning.

And then it _hurt_.

Their limbs lashed out, claws scraping against the beak that had slammed into them, pain and purple and flashing static white, but their spidery flailing caught the big bird off guard and she let them go. Wiggling about, hissing and spitting as they scrambled backwards, puffing up their bristles and baring their teeth, mandibles raised and limbs waving, the spider child _snarled_ at their attacker.

Vaguely, the fortress of stone and birds still in chaos, they could see more of them stomp out, eyes only upon them. The great big bird in front of them blinked her bloodshot eye, tilted her head, and then with a squawking exhale came at them again.

They tried to dodge out of the way like they've been doing, but something in their arm pulled, tugged hot pain from their shoulder and more sputtering purple blood through their fur, and Webber tripped and tumbled.

The beak cracked down on the stone beside them, only a few inches away, but now there were more birds and now they were being surrounded and Webber hissed weakly, trying to push themselves up but their arm not letting them, pain and hurting and sudden shocking, freezing fear, curling up as they hissed and blinked all their eyes out of sync, feeling light headed and dizzy and -

And bad! So very bad and stupid, and now they were going to die!

Wheezing out another hiss, Webber curled up and tensed, ready for those horrid beaks, already knowing how it felt, dreading it as it would come.

A second passed, and then another, and then the faintest of sounds, the swish of air and sliding of near silent sound. 

And then a thump, loud and rattling, and the screeching of the birds turned into something even worse than anger at an intruder; rage filled calls, and Webber slowly blinked open a few eyes and saw, right in front of them, a rolling lifeless eye.

That made them scramble back with a sputtered spider cry, a whimper as pain shot through their shoulder down their arm, and they cowered down as the birds all stomped about, trying to peck and kick at the new intruders.

The shadows darted about, moving elegant and almost smoothly, unhindered, and the shadowy swords _snicker-snacked_ as they passed great scars into the birds feathery bodies, cutting through tough scaled legs and bone, splattered red blood all about in the fight.

Webber curled up, held their arm to their chest, and they were shaking and feeling sick to their stomach now, staring unblinkingly at the chaos, before suddenly arms had wrapped about them, scooped them up and took off in a run.

"They'll be distracted for only a few minutes more, but that's all I can buy us." 

Webber blurrily looked up at the person holding them, taking them away from the scary sounds and the blood scented air, and Mister Maxwell was more focused on his footing, trying to not stumble over rocks or trip as he ran. They couldn't see what was going on behind them, but they felt him shiver and almost trip over as one of the birds called a victory squawk, the splatter smell of spicy oil mixing with bird blood.

He didn't talk anymore to them, focused on running, and when the next shadow clone fell he didn't even stumble. Webber blinked tiredly, not really seeing anything, feeling ill and confused.

Their blood was still soaking into their fur, and now Mister Maxwells suit, and they idly raised a claw to try and scrub out the stain, not even minding the rough run as the sounds were left behind.

They didn't know how much time passed, just that they couldn't keep the strength in their arms anymore and a few of their eyes had closed, heart thudding loud in their head, before finally Mister Maxwell slowed to a stop. He was panting, they realized, great haggard inhales that they barely could understand, before they were jostled a bit and blinding pain made them hiss out a shallow snarl and blink open all their eyes once more.

A few fell closed immediately after, something heavy dragging them down, but they had been set down on a grass mat and Mister Maxwell was moving around them, face dour and focused. More time seemed to fly by them, blinking slow as their breathing went a bit shallow, but they caught snippets of Mister Maxwell, tending to their arm and shoulder, hovering over them and speaking words they didn't really hear, wrinkled face filled with floating worry and concern, and all they wanted to do was curl up and hide away from the buzzing numb pain but their friend wasn't letting them. 

Everytime they tried he firmly stretched out their arm again, soft words they could just barely hear and not understand, binding with silk and putting gooey cold stinging stuff all over it, more pain that made them feel dizzy and far away, and sometimes there was even sharper pain as they felt their chitin shift, pushed into place or nudged at, making them hiss weakly at the interference.

But, even though they were in a swirly fog of scary numb pain, it was starting to...fade away.

They didn't sleep, only drifted, but finally Webber blinked open their many eyes, breathing quiet and paced, and found themself staring up at the starry sky.

It didn't used to be starry, they vaguely remembered. Night used to be pitch black and empty, and smelled of roses and gross smelling smoke and spicy raw fear. 

Now though, there were stars in the sky, and the night only smelled like roses sometimes, not all the time.

The memory of their collected rocks, and then the tallbirds and the nest and that pain of afterwards had Webber sitting up too fast, hissing a whimper as they rose a hand to press to the injury. Their fur was still stained in their blood, but silk was wrapped about their shoulder, almost all the way down their arm, tight in some places as their chitin ached and a sore feeling billowed below the surface.

"You're awake." 

Webber jerked their head around, blinking all their eyes out of sync and then in dizzying pairs, and saw that Mister Maxwell was watching them. He was tending to a rock firepit, sparking up embers as he nudged a log into the midst of the flame, and he was frowning.

Webber churred, own spider frown falling on their face, and now the pain felt even worse as they curled their arms close.

"That would have killed you, pal." Mister Maxwell rose up, staring at the fire before making his way to their side, dark shiny eyes staring into their own many wide eyes, falling into a crouch as Webbers limbs pulled close to their face, twittering quietly. "I had to sacrifice a few clones to get you out of that mess. What were you even thinking, going into a fortress like that? No armor, no weapons; kid, if I didn't know you any better I'd say you were just _trying_ to get killed."

Webber trembled, not just cause of the pain anymore as Mister Maxwells voice scolded them, and their arm hurt and their shoulder hurt and they felt sore from all the running away and-

And Webber suddenly burst into sobs.

Their limbs quaked, shaking as they wailed, and they didn't have any tears but there was a lump in their throat and all their eyes squeezed shut as they cried. 

They hadn't meant to go into the tallbird place! They hadn't meant to fall on the mommy birds egg! They hadn't meant to cause all those birds to follow them and peck at them and try to hurt them! 

They hadn't meant for Mister Maxwell to make his shadow selves fight to protect Webber, they hadn't meant for him to feel the clones deaths, and, and-

And they hadn't meant to leave the garden gates open! They hadn't meant for all the mean doggies to get in, crowd and bite and tear everything apart, all of Miss Wickerbottom's and Wendy's hard work, all because Webber wasn't paying any attention! 

They hadn't meant for any of this! Today was a terrible day!

So Webber wailed, spidery hisses and gasps and almost human like cries, and they felt terrible and horrible and bad, sick and in pain and dizzy, and they didn't even have their backpack full of rocks anymore! 

That thought seemed even worse than all the rest, and Webber sobbed loudly, too distraught to think of anything else.

And then they felt arms around them, pulling them carefully into a hesitant hug, and Webber found themself crying into a stained suit now, warmed by the fire and smelling of spicy oils and their own leftover traces of blood. They could taste the discomfort in the air, it was thick like their previous panic, but all Webber could, and wanted, to do was sob, wailing in their friends arms. 

"Er, there there." 

Even Mister Maxwells voice was hesitant, trace hints of worry and unhappiness, and Webber sobbed even harder, clinging to his sleeves.

Mister Maxwell was their friend, and they had just made today harder than ever for him. Just like what they had done with Miss Wickerbottom and Wendy! 

They just wanted to help! 

Webber cried for a long while, tearless and hiccuping spider faint noises by the end of it, clinging tight and squeezing their eyes shut, limbs twitching against the suit jacket they were being awkwardly held to. But even that ended, sniffling and feeling more than exhausted, and finally Mister Maxwell gently untangled their limbs from holding onto him.

He looked sad, they thought, rubbing their claws about their eyes and feeling gross and ill and hurty, and they wondered if that was their fault too.

But Webber already knew the answer to that, so they made themself not think on that line of thought.

Their friend sat next to them a moment, watching them, and Webber blinked all their eyes in pairs and looked up at him, voice rough and gurgled in their throat.

"We're sorry, Mister Maxwell. We, we didn't know it was there, and…" They sniffled, mandibles and limbs waving, adjusting their jaw and clearing their throat. "...and we fell in."

They didn't look up at their friend, instead lightly rubbing a clawed hand over their bandaged up injury, a spider frown twisting their features. There was no answer for a few moments, and then Mister Maxwell cleared his throat.

"Well, you know now." His voice was short, distracted even, and this made Webber tilt their head, blink up at the man.

He was staring at the fire, frown still on his face, and now that Webber was more aware they could see the little camp now for what it was, not their home.

Just a firepit and chest, a backpack lying next to it, and the straw mats on the ground. Webber was on one, and they could see specks of their purple blood staining it now. Their claws idly fiddled with some of the fraying straw, clicking quietly in the deep of their throat, before movement distracted them.

Mister Maxwell had stood up and gone to the backpack, and Webber watched as he brought it over, sitting a good distance away from them. Digging around, their friends face a hard neutral scowl, dark eyes shining funny in the firelight, Webber watched as he pulled out a few wrapped pieces of jerky.

And then he held them out, frown still set on his face but all stiff, odd, as if it was hard to keep it on. 

"This is all I've got, and if I brought you back to camp starving I'm sure someone would have my head."

Webber stared at the pieces a moment, and their tummy gurgled a bit now, a full evening having past and they've not even eaten a little snack, so they reached over and took what they were being offered.

Mister Maxwell closed up his pack, set it aside and folded his arms in his lap, staring once more at the fire, and Webber stared at the jerky in their claws before a thought came to their mind.

They unwrapped the dried meat, all smelling warm and chewy and yummy, and carefully split it all in half as evenly as they possibly could.

After all, Mister Maxwell must have used a lot of energy saving them, what with all that running and shadow fighting and all! Webber wanted to make sure to share.

Wrapping up one of the halfs and balancing the other on their lap, Webber blinked up all their eyes, altogether, and held out their own offering.

"Th-thank you, Mister Maxwell." Their words caught his attention, dark eyes turning towards them, and Webber twittered, limbs shifting all about. "For helping us."

"Don't mention it." Mister Maxwells face stopped being much of a hard frown, softer now and almost disoriented, and he glanced at the food Webber was trying to give him before making a faint halfhearted gesture at them. "And no thank you, I don't need it."

Webber squinted a few of their eyes, blinking as they thought on that, but they didn't give up.

"You should eat too, Mister Maxwell."

Their limbs curled back as that softer air seemed to go away so quickly, their friends face falling into a mean frown again, and they blinked all their eyes in pairs as he stared at them unblinkingly, pitch black and shiny with the dark of night surrounding them both.

"I said, I don't need it. Don't make me repeat myself."

His tone made them bristle up, feel uneasy, and for a moment their eyes darted to the jerky they had in hand and they almost thought about just doing what he said. He was their friend, after all, and he has already done so much today for them cause of their mistakes!

But that was exactly why they steeled themself, limbs twitching and and fur bristled up, eyes unwavering from looking back at their sort of scary friend.

"But you helped us-"

"Pal, I don't need it-"

"No!"

Webbers outburst startled them both, and they blinked all their eyes at the shock of feeling so strongly as they watched Mister Maxwell look almost bewildered, staring at them without that scary frown.

They puffed up, determined, and their voice rasped and clicked in their throat as they pushed on.

"You helped us, Mister Maxwell, and we want to share _with_ you!" They gurgled, and under their breath hissed low and quiet. "We want to help too…"

For a moment there was silence, and Webber blinked at him, still holding the jerky out, wanting with everything in them to make everything better, right now. Even if today had been terrible they still wanted to try!

And then a low sound rose up, sharp and different and familiar, and Webbers limbs pulled close to their head as they flinched back, listening to Mister Maxwell as he started to laugh. 

They pulled back the jerky, rubbed at their injured arm, and felt their chest get a little tight as their friend laughed at them in a way they remember him doing way before they were ever friends.

"Oh pal, you are just like the rest of them." Mister Maxwell wiped at his eyes, and even though he was laughing his jaw was tense, a tick that looked more like a sneer than a grin as he turned to really look at them, dark eyes glinting bright. "A little brat like you, trying to help me? All you've done is complicate my day, nothing more or less."

Webber flinched down as he spoke, limbs drawn in close, mandibles shifted to their mouth, and now their chest was a lot tighter than before, each word making them want to shrink away. 

"How about you stick closer to the rest of the pawns and try not to get killed next time? Might be a bit much to ask, but I do have to try." The tense grin he gave them was mean, baring his teeth like a pained snarl, but Webbers eyes all blinked as they realized something, watching Mister Maxwell as he continued. "Now go to bed, and I'll drop you off with the rest of those imbeciles in the morning."

With that he was up, moving away from them as he put away the backpack, opening the chest to rummage inside, and Webber watched him wide eyed.

That feeling in them, watching their friend be mean to them, suddenly loosened up as they made a realization.

Mister Maxwell wasn't even doing anything in the chest, only shifting things about. _Avoiding looking at them._

Webber knew they were not like all their other friends, and not just cause of their spider. Wendy was their friend, and the only other kid like them, and she was real observant, more so than they ever thought they could be, sometimes telling them things about their adult friends that Webber hadn't even picked up on earlier.

But Webber wasn't stupid, they knew that very well.

And they had seen just how forced that snarling grin had been, how stiffly their friend was holding himself right now.

Carefully, putting the jerky to the side, Webber wobbly stood up, quieting their spidery chirps for a moment. They had to wave their arms for a bit of balance, but once they got that they looked up across the fire, to the chests that Mister Maxwell was distracting himself with.

With that, Webber took those few wobbly, stumbling steps forward, and wrapped their friend up in a hug.

They felt him tense up, surprise and shock, but Webber clicked and rasped their voice into order, limbs all waving about as they pressed the side of their face to his back.

"We're sorry we scared you, Mister Maxwell." They twittered quietly, determined, ignoring the faint pains of moving their injured arm, ignoring everything right now because they needed to help. "We didn't mean to. We didn't want to die, even if it was our fault."

"Now wait a moment-" 

"Thank you for saving us." Webber pressed on, cutting him off and ignoring how quiet their friend had gotten, losing that mean fake edge that had been there previously. "If you hadn't been there, we'd be dead, so it was good that you were."

They breathed in, kept a firm hold about him, and ignored the fact that maybe he was trembling a bit.

"We're happy that you were there, Mister Maxwell. We're happy that you're here."

Webber quieted as silence fell again, almost all their eyes closed, only a few squinted open and looking to the darkness of the night, to the stars up above. Mister Maxwell was shaking a bit in their arms, and after a moment they felt him heave a sigh, that stiffness suddenly going away in one swoop.

"You shouldn't be, pal."

His voice was different again, not soft or mean or all fake sounding, and Webber screwed up their open eyes, limbs twitching as they twittered quietly. Their friend sounded even more sad now.

They didn't really know how to answer that, they really didn't, but Webber shoved away their thoughts on it, pushed away everything, cause right now they needed to help and not think about things too long, too deeply. Instead they made sure their hug was secure, stable, and their friend for once let them do so without pushing them away like he usually did.

They didn't know if Mister Maxwell liked hugs or not, but this felt important to do right now, so they didn't let go for a few minutes more.

It was only when their arm was starting to ache and feel twinging pain that they finally had to let go, taking a step back and twittering as they held their arm close, feeling over the bandages carefully. They weren't bleeding through, which was a really good thing, and even if their chitin was cracked maybe it'll all heal together fine, fuse and be a little stiff but not broken.

Mister Maxwell had turned around, slow, and now their eyes rose to meet his and instead of the shiny look that usually stared back at them it was all dull instead, sad.

Webber didn't know what it meant, but they gave him a small spidery smile, and after a moment Mister Maxwell hesitantly copied them, though it still looked more like a grimace.

Sort of like when Mister Wilson tried to smile on purpose; his scowly face made him always look a bit odd and like he thought too much all the time.

After that they went back to their mat, sitting down and chewing on bits of jerky, and when Mister Maxwell finally came around to sit again too, Webber held out the other half and found it taken with only a hint of hesitation, unsureness. He still looked sad, tired, but now he wasn't all stiff and mean looking, and Webber decided that that was a good thing, and that they had finally been able to help.

Webber churred at their friend, smiling a spider smile and waving all their limbs, and hoped Mister Maxwell felt a bit better too.


End file.
